


Nam-Jai Malee

by ShitpostingfromtheBarricade



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Amis are doing their best, Bossuet PoV, Don't copy to another site, Gen, Homesickness, Songkran, Thai Bossuet, Thai New Year, holiday fic, this is easily the most self-indulgent thing I have ever written, yes I gifted this to me because I deserve it, สงกรานต์
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:35:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23650027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShitpostingfromtheBarricade/pseuds/ShitpostingfromtheBarricade
Summary: It’s been several years since Bossuet has been able to celebrate Songkran in his homeland.  Visiting his family helps, but today he hadn’t even been able to find his floral-print shirt to help him get into the mood, and it chafes his heart as few other things can.As if that weren’t enough, Musichetta, Joly, and Grantaire are all too busy tonight to walk him to the meeting.Warnings:casual alcohol consumption
Relationships: Bossuet Laigle & Les Amis de l'ABC
Comments: 10
Kudos: 25





	Nam-Jai Malee

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ShitpostingfromtheBarricade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShitpostingfromtheBarricade/gifts).



> Nam-Jai Malee (น้ำใจมะลิ) is a portmanteau of nam-malee (น้ำมะลิ, jasmine water, often used in Songkran ceremonies) and nam-jai (น้ำใจ, literally "water of the heart," a Thai concept for selfless generosity and kindness).
> 
> This fic does feature people attempting to arrange a Songkran celebration with very little personal background in Thai culture; as such, it walks the line for appropriation. 
> 
> The Royal Thai Government has called for people to cancel their Songkran celebrations across Thailand this year due to the pandemic (especially since one of the most major aspects of the celebration revolves around many people coming in close proximity with the elderly of the community). This fic does not reflect this precaution at all because I didn't want it to.
> 
> Thanks as always to [PieceOfCait](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PieceOfCait/pseuds/PieceOfCait) for beta-ing!
> 
> Language and culture notes in the end notes!

April used to be his favorite month of the year, Bossuet reflects glumly as he huddles a little deeper into his fleece-lined jacket. Here it’s blustery and chilly, but growing up in Thailand April had been hot, swelteringly hot. The novelty of school letting out would have finally been setting in in full force, and everyone would be in the streets in shorts and shirts (if that), armed to the teeth with their kiddie pools and water guns and buckets to splash the oncoming cars and unsuspecting bystanders as they passed.

It’s been several years since he’s been able to celebrate in his homeland. It hadn’t been too bad in the beginning: his family still went through the motions, friends would call him, and the weather warming up meant that the new streets were splashed in the same sorts of colors that he was accustomed to seeing around this time of the year. As he’s become more acclimated to western culture and has had less and less time to speak with his Thai bosom friends, however, he finds himself floundering in gray area. Visiting his family helps, and after tonight’s meeting he’ll be returning to his parents’ house to be with them and his _yaa_ for the holiday, but today he hadn’t even been able to find his floral-print shirt to help him get into the mood, and it chafes his heart as few other things can.

As if that weren’t enough, Musichetta, Joly, and Grantaire are all busy, so he’s walking to the Musain alone. Bossuet isn’t given to crying about his bad luck, but tonight he certainly doesn’t feel good about it

The Café Musain is warm when he pushes the door open against the cold air of the night, but his heart remains heavy in his chest until he reaches the third floor and is greeted by a second blast of heat, this one hot enough to make him blink against its effects before the assault of something cold being smeared onto his cheeks and another item being blindly shoved into his hand hits without warning.

“What the—” he starts, reaching up to touch his cheek with his free hand and pulling away to examine the substance. _Chalk?_

“Happy New Year, Bossuet!” he hears Jehan cheer before finally looking up.

It takes him a moment to reorient himself and confirm that he is indeed still in their weekly meeting room: brightly colored paper streamers adorn the walls and much of the ceiling space; the tables have been pushed against the edges of the room and are currently serving as homes to the seven postures of Buddha; twelve plastic tarps are scattered around the room with coloring pages of the Chinese zodiac hoisted above them and a single box of dirt between them; something that closely resembles a money tree has been set up in the center of the room, a pool noodle and some plastic straws replacing the usual bamboo and ribbons; and, perhaps most strangely of all, his friends are all decked out in Hawaiian shirts and chalk, drinks in-hand and looking expectantly at him.

For his part, Bossuet is utterly lost. “What is this?” he asks as Joly, _the traitor,_ drapes the very floral shirt he’d been searching for earlier over his shoulders.

“Well,” his partner shrugs, stepping back to lean more comfortably over their cane, “we always forget until it’s too late and you’re already sad, so last April we started planning to try to celebrate Songkran this year.” Their pronunciation of the holiday is horrible, and Bossuet loves them all the more for it.

“So this is…”

“Don’t tell me we missed by that wide of a margin,” Grantaire grins, crossing his arms. “We worked hard on those streamers.”

“No, they’re—I just—” 

He just hadn’t been expecting it. It had never even occurred to Bossuet that his friends might have noticed his annual bout of homesickness, much less to ask for something like this.

“Oh shit, do you like, need a minute?” Grantaire asks, and it takes a moment for Bossuet to realize that he’s crying.

“No, no, I—well uh, yeah, actually,” he admits sheepishly. It’s a true testament to his shock that he only now recognizes what had been so brusquely shoved into his hand earlier. “Chang?” Blinking at the beer bottle, he looks back up toward Grantaire. “Where did you find Chang west of the Indochina time zone?”

His friend shrugs, uncharacteristically coy. “I know a guy.”

“Which is to say,” Bahorel continues, throwing an arm around Grantaire, “that this asshole made it his mission to get to know everyone in Chinatown over the past year.”

A vision of the long procession of Asian fusion experiments that had graced (or, as was often the case, battered) their household appears before him as he nods, taking an automatic sip of the beer and fighting a grimace.

Grantaire’s expression falls briefly. “Did I fuck up?”

“Nope,” Bossuet manages after forcing the swallow down. “That is definitely Chang. It and Hong Thong are exercises in suffering for your loss of sobriety.”

An unsubtle elbow jabs into Bahorel’s side as Musichetta mutters, “I told you it wasn’t pronounced like ‘thongs.’”

“It’s spelled like it!” 

“They don’t say ‘thigh-land’!”

“Fine,” Bahorel laughs before turning back to Bossuet. “The Hong _Tong_ ’s not so bad if you wash it back with some Coke, though.”

“Oh no,” Bossuet tells him, shaking his head seriously. “Sacred and traditional Thai culture: seltzer or bust.” 

Once everyone who drinks has collected a beer and downed at least one shot of the _lao khao_ that Grantaire had scrounged from no-doubt dubious sources (probably Bossuet’s uncle), they force Bossuet back out of the heat _(sweltering_ heat, he thinks, the satisfaction curling up in his stomach) and into the street where Bahorel’s truck awaits them, three speakers strapped precariously to its bed. 

“Jehan found some bangers for you, don’t worry,” Bahorel assures as he climbs into the driver’s side.

“Is this okay?” Bossuet asks, turning to where Enjolras is already shivering in the chill of the night. “The parades are meant to be done during the day, and—” He hurries to finish his sentence as Enjolras’s eyes widen. “—and they’re kind of, uh, loud.”

“Nonsense,” Combeferre assures him. “We filed the right paperwork, there shouldn’t be any issues.”

The police aren’t who he’s worried about, but it’s nice to know that they’ve gotten their legal bases covered this time.

They make it a valiant almost two songs before everyone folds to Bossuet’s suggestion that they return to the Musain: if the cold weren’t enough, it is clear that despite Jehan’s excellent taste in Thai music, the rest of the city isn’t quite so enthusiastic. It is also plain that at least half of their party does not feel comfortable dancing so openly as this, and while in Thailand the parade would garner more people as it went, the western world at nearly 9 at night on a Sunday does not appear similarly-inclined.

Courfeyrac already looks like he’s gearing up to apologize, and Bossuet is not having it. “That was great! Honestly, these things got kind of tired after a couple of songs, I’m glad we got to have our fun and get back to hanging out.” It’s only barely a lie: cutting loose with the village for a couple of hours was always the highlight of his year, his parents dancing with bottles of Leo that they hid when the parade snaked around past his _yaa_ ’s house and everyone’s inhibitions lowering in favor of bringing in the new year as a community.

Still, when people stop having fun, the party is over.

The group piles back into the room, which somehow feels as though it has grown hotter in their absence. It’s nearing discomfort, honestly, and Bossuet can see how plainly flushed Marius and Enjolras are. “Do you guys wanna turn the heat down?”

Enjolras looks like he’s prepared to stand his ground, but Marius sounds concerningly faint when he answers, “It’s no problem at all. Besides, we already paid Ms. Hucheloup to cover the additional expense.”

Someone—probably Jehan—kicks Marius’s chair, making the man jolt, but Bossuet is already headed to the thermostat. “My cousins and I used to go to our _yai_ and _dtaa_ ’s in the afternoon when it got too hot to play anymore to nap in front of the fan,” he laughs with a shake of his head as the numbers beep ever downward. “Not even Thai people find 40C comfortable.”

A quiet _“Yokatta”_ comes from Joly’s direction as the heater audibly shuts off, allowing a draft of cool air to flow in from where Feuilly has opened a window. 

“So, are we starting the meeting then?” Bossuet prompts, turning and allowing Bahorel to top off his Hong Thong-seltzer with a hand that is nothing if not well-practiced.

“We’re not done with festivities yet!” Marius insists. “We still have pra-jeddy-sai and road-nam-dam-hwa!”

Bossuet’s heart is too full to handle, and it’s only half because Marius’s pronunciation (despite clear effort) may somehow be worse than Joly’s. “Okay,” he says, trying not to let his voice crack. “Let’s make some pagodas.”

In truth, it doesn’t make a lot of sense to be doing this in the Musain: the pagodas are meant to be in order to return the dirt carried out from the temple throughout the year as a form of making merit and receiving good luck in the new year. As his friends watch him unceremoniously fill up a bucket that he carries to the tarp of his Chinese horoscope, though, a sort of reverence falls over him. What is the Musain, after all, if not the place he seeks guidance in living his life? It’s been years since he attended temple now, but if ever there was a place to give back, it’s here, surrounded by these people.

A hand rests on his shoulder once his pail has been emptied onto the rooster tarp, quickly evolving to a full chest being pressed against his back with indescribable gentleness. “I’m so sorry,” Courfeyrac murmurs into his shoulder. “We’ve made a mess of everything, haven’t we?”

“What? No, I—” A cool trail on his cheek makes itself known as he turns to address his friend, and Bossuet realizes that he must have begun crying again. “Goddammit,” he chuckles, reaching up with one hand to swipe at the tear as he twists to reach his other arm around Courfeyrac. “I need to lay off the _lao khao.”_

“We don’t have to continue,” Combeferre tells him. “If this is upsetting, we can stop now.”

“No, that’s not it.” Pink chalk flakes off of his face as he shakes his head. “I just feel so lucky to get to share this with you all.”

“Even if we’ve fucked up almost every step?” Grantaire volunteers, a sharp sound afterward indicating that Joly’s elbow has probably expertly located Grantaire’s spleen.

“You haven’t,” Bossuet insists, “but yes, even if you had.”

“You don’t think it’s appropriation?” Marius asks all-too-innocently, and judging from the looks he is shot by several people this was definitely a source of contention throughout the planning process.

Bossuet considers the question seriously before answering. “I mean, you’re not doing it for your own benefit or trying to claim it. It’d be different if it wasn’t you guys,” he admits, “but it is you, and I know you did it for me, and—” Oh, he’s crying again. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

He feels more bodies wrap around him until he’s certain that from the outside it looks like an eleven-person pile-up, and Bossuet suddenly finds himself feeling more at-home than he has at any Songkran for years.

_“Roht nam dom hua,”_ Bossuet pronounces slowly, “is an elder-honoring ceremony.” It’s also performed for police officers and other government officials, but this doesn’t feel like the right audience for such an addend. “We bring offerings to the elders of our community, usually starting with our immediate family and working out, then we pour jasmine water over their hands and receive a blessing from them.”

“Well, Bahorel’s the oldest here,” Grantaire grins. “Has to be going on at least a thousand by now, right?”

“Hah hah,” the man laughs dryly. “Bossuet’s the guest of honor.”

“Most of my research indicated that you’re usually around 60 before you’re of age to grant a blessing,” Jehan points out, Marius nodding in agreement.

Enjolras’s tone balances on the edge of exasperation. “So none of us can be honored or give blessings?” 

“Or all of us can?” Bossuet offers. It’s far from traditional, but then, Jehan’s playlist has since revealed itself to contain no fewer than three songs from Blackpink’s discography, Bahorel is drinking his Hong Thong with Dr. Pepper, and their pagodas had ultimately turned into contests of who could make the most movie-accurate slasher villain (Feuilly had won by an unquestionable landslide). “We all bring different things to the table, so we could each give our own blessing for the new year.”

Feuilly’s steady look weighs heavy. “And that’d be okay?”

Bossuet gives a careless shrug. “It was never going to be Songkran,” he tells them bluntly, “but it can be something we create together.”

“Will that make you happy?” Joly asks slowly.

Bossuet’s face breaks wide into a grin. “Yes.”

As the guest of honor, Bossuet starts, modelling the typical steps and walking his friends through the various rituals. He effects a serious expression when the time comes for him to bestow his blessing, speaking in the most pretentious Thai he can muster and repeating the expressions his teachers and grandparents bestowed on the appropriate holidays, making sure to add bawdy wishes for attractive partners to the appropriate parties with an exaggerated wink.

They only make it through honoring four more friends before Bahorel gets (optimistically-speaking) overzealous with his pouring, soaking Feuilly’s lap and putting an effective end to the cease-fire agreement that has been in place all night. It takes only a minute before the room has been transformed into a war zone, the smells of jasmine, Hong Thong, and cheap Thai beers overwhelming all else but the deafening sounds of laughter, and Bossuet finally knows that he is home.

By the time the room has been cleaned and Bossuet is arriving at his parents’ place it is nearly midnight. He quickly finds them still awake in their room and addresses them with a shallow bow, hurrying out before they can think to ask why he is absolutely soaked and smells like a Thai temple.

The plan is to dig into the somtam and cashews he knows are already prepared and maybe make some ramen before bed when he sees that the kitchen is already occupied.

 _“Yaa krap,”_ he greets, sweeping into a low wai. He’d already had to graap that morning after not having seen her in so long, but _Yaa_ lights up nevertheless when she sees him, eyes crinkling as she laughs and holds her arms out expectantly toward him. It’s relatively new for her, and she’s only opened up to hugging in the past two years or so since their move, but it delights Bossuet to no end, and he is already wrapping her in a hug before he has time to think better of it.

 _“Indriya,”_ she starts, “why do you smell like jasmine and liquor?”

Flinching, he freezes. _Yaa_ has always been on the more conservative side, and the lilt of her Thai betrays nothing of her feelings. “Is…is it okay?” 

She pulls away slightly, looking up at him. “You smell like home,” she beams. “Have you eaten yet? I made some _khao dehn_ this morning with your aunts, and I can make some stirfry if you want.”

His friends love to tease him about his misfortune, but Bossuet cannot imagine a luckier person in the world. “Stirfry sounds amazing.”

**Author's Note:**

> สวัสดีปีใหม่นะค่ะ ขอบคุณมากทุกคนที่อ่านเรื่องนี้ค่ะ
> 
> I'm gonna info-dump on Thai culture and Songkran below, so you can check that out if you want. Otherwise, if you enjoyed this, I would really love it if you comment below or reach out to me at my [tumblr](http://shitpostingfromthebarricade.tumblr.com)!
> 
>  **Language/Culture Guide**  
>  _Songkran_ (สงกรานต์) - Thai New Year, a multi-day celebration that occurs mid-April every year over country's hottest point  
>  _Yaa/Yai_ (ย่า/ยาย) - paternal/maternal grandmother respectfully  
>  _Bpoo/Dtaa_ (ปู่/ตา) - paternal/maternal grandfather respectfully  
> Chang/Leo - popular brands of beer in Thailand; the other most popular is Singha  
> Hong Thong (pronounced Hong-Tong) - the most popular type of liquor in Thailand; it is a mixed spirit, but Thai people will refer to all kinds of liquor as "whiskey"  
>  _Lao khao_ (เหล้าขาว) - "white whiskey"; very cheap, strong, rice-based liquor; often brewed at home, will take off paint; varieties sold in stores often come with the warning that it might make you go blind; much more common in rural villages without 7/11s  
>  _Pra-chedi-sai_ (พระเจดีย์ทราย) - pronounced pra jeh-dee sai, literally "monk sand pagoda"; more or less described above  
>  _Roht-nam-dom-hua_ (รดน้ำดำหัว) - elder honoring ceremony involving the pouring of jasmine water over a respected person's hands  
>  _Somtam_ (ส้มตำ) - a sour spicy green papaya- or green mango-based "salad" of sorts; usually features fish sauce, crab or fermented fish (ปลาร้า), peanuts, and lots of Thai pepper  
>  _Krap/ka_ (ครับ/ค่ะ)- makes whatever you're saying more polite/respectful; it's said at the end of a sentence and is gendered  
>  _Indriya_ (อินทรีย์)- "eagle," Bossuet's Thai nickname (all Thai people have a Thai nickname that their parents give them at birth, usually based off of a common day-today noun)  
>  _Wai_ (ไหว้) - a shallow bow performed with the palms of one's hands pressed flat together as in prayer; it's a common greeting akin to a wave, handshake, or nod; the deeper the bow, the more respectful (height is often an indication of power)  
>  _Graap_ (กราบ) - much more respectful than a _wai,_ used primarily in ceremonies; one sits on the ground and bows low enough for for their forehead to touch the ground, palms also flat to the ground, and repeats this action three times in total; this is common when one goes to the temple, but also in respect ceremonies such as Mother's Day, Father's Day, Wai-Teacher Day, _roht nam dom hua,_ and when one is greeting important relatives such as your parents after not having seen them for a long time  
>  _Khao dehn_ (ข้าวแต๋น) - a puffed rice biscuit with coconut sugar drizzled over top; my _yai_ always makes it for Songkran
> 
> **Quick Songkran Guide**  
>  _This is based off of how my village celebrates, so it may vary from what others are familiar with._
> 
> Thai summer is very hot, so most of the month of April people will dump water on one another and smear chalk on peoples' faces. People will also wear brightly-colored, light, floral button-downs (similar to Hawaiian shirts, but not exactly the same).
> 
> Festivities usually begin on the 13th in the form of a parade. We dance around the entire village to music played loudly from the speakers on the backs of trucks, and most adults will have a drink in-hand. The parade ends at a temple. That night, there is a very big communal party/festival.
> 
> The 14th is when everyone _pra-chedi-sai_ s. My family goes down to the river to collect dirt to take to the temple where we then made donations to the temple and deposite our dirt onto the appropriate piles. I understand some places have competitions for decorating the pagodas after, but to my knowledge this is not something my village does.
> 
> The 15th is the day we do _roht-nam-dom-hua,_ the most important aspect of Songkran. In the morning everyone goes to temple to make a food offering to the monks and attend the service, then afterward we go around the village visiting the elderly. People start with the elderly in their immediate family (ie grandparents) before moving on to the other people (great-grandparents and great-aunts/uncles, but after it may be close family friends or relatives' in-laws, and after respected teachers from one's youth; most people in the village usually also try to visit the oldest person in the community to receive their blessing for the new year). An offering (usually money of a basket of useful household items for the new year) is made, a procession begins for the pouring of jasmine water, and afterward a blessing is made by the senior-most elder present. Smaller gatherings may allow for individual blessings and the distribution of string bracelets, which the receiver wears for at least a week for good luck.


End file.
